


in the spinning darkness of our lives

by Fulgaraverde



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulgaraverde/pseuds/Fulgaraverde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They first meet, officially, in a SHIELD interrogation room after he fails to kill her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the spinning darkness of our lives

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written way back in May, for the fic challenge at LJ's Avengersland, prompt 'Amnesty,' and I'm just getting around to sorting out archiving the work I put together this phase. The title comes from Shearwater's song 'Star of the Age.'

They first meet, officially, in a SHIELD interrogation room after he fails to kill her.  
  
That is what the records say, at least. And, in some ways, it’s true, although in a few more it isn’t.  
  
It begins like this: Coulson shoves the file into Clint’s hands, gives him an earpiece, and says, “She wants to talk to you.”  
  
Clint says, “I’m not trained for that,” although that doesn’t matter, and even as he says it he’s already thumbing through the file.  
  
“We gave you the option to kill her first,” Coulson replies, and shrugs.  
  


\---

  


He tries to approach her like he's supposed to (which means:  _like Coulson would_ ,) sits with his back straight and his hands loosely clasped, features schooled into careful apathy.

The look she gives him is piercing in the truest sense of the word. She strips him away layer by layer, piece by piece, taking away  _Agent Barton_  and  _Hawkeye_  and  _Clint_ , and leaves behind a hard core that is none of those things, and all of them. He matches her in this; discards the pieces of her he doesn't need and pockets the ones he does.

The Hawk and the Spider survey one another silently, and come to an understanding.

“You're right,” he says, and relaxes by degrees, sprawling over his chair, “fuck that.”

\---

  
In the next room, a junior agent gives an exasperated sigh and says, “That’s it? When she said she wanted to talk to him, I figured they'd actually talk.”  
  
“They are,” another insists, “just not, y’know, verbally.”  
  
Coulson shushes them both and goes back to watching the monitor.  
  


\---

  
Clint is quite content to wait for her to speak, which means he waits for some time. He flips through the file a couple of times (what little is there) and finds a list of questions he’s supposed to ask, lots of Russian names and places that Clint neither knows nor gives a shit about, with careful handwriting at the top instructing him that  _under no circumstances are you to deviate from this list, Barton. I’m serious this time._  
  
Clint scoffs and puts the list to the back of the folder.  
  
“You shot your own man,” he hears, and when he looks up she is watching him keenly.  
  
 _Sunlight glints off his arrowhead, giving him away, and from a hundred yards away and four floors down she still manages to meet his eyes. The decision is involuntary, takes only a split-second, and the arrow flies straight and true, burying itself in the shoulder of the agent ten feet behind her._  
  
“He had body armor,” Clint replies. “I didn’t even break the skin.”  
  
That is not what she meant, and he knows it.   
  
The corners of her mouth turn down almost imperceptibly. “That arrow was meant for me,” she says, the barest note of annoyance bleeding through. “You missed.”  
  
His eyes flick to hers with startling speed. “I don’t miss,” he replies, quietly intense.  
  
She doesn’t bother to ask why, won’t be satisfied with the answer no matter what it is.  
  
“I owe you,” she says, after a pause, and kills the beginnings of his smile when she adds, “I don’t like owing anyone.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure you saved my life at least once back there,” he says decisively, referring back to some point between now and three days ago, when this all began. “We’re even.”  
  
“Saving is not like sparing," she says. “One does not pay for the other.”  
  
She gives him a look that he’s almost sure is her deciding whether he is worth killing, and he thinks he sees the moment she decides against it. His shoulders give a quick, absent shudder, but he makes a decision.  
  
There is a way he is supposed to do this, he knows. He’s seen it before, watched Coulson say things like  _we’ve been watching you for some time_  and  _you have a skill we can use_  and occasionally  _you don't have a choice_.  
  
“I could use a partner,” he says, instead of any of those, and never looks back.


End file.
